


Worthy of You

by sunenthusiast



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amorality, Blood and Injury, Demon Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, King Yoon Jeonghan, Knifeplay, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunenthusiast/pseuds/sunenthusiast
Summary: The two of them. Weapons and leaders. Power hungry and ambitious.Seungcheol, the demon warrior who would spill all the blood the world could offer until the ground was wet with it, and Jeonghan, the king with long hair bright as his crown who would command him with a nod to pour the blood onto his throne instead.There would be no offerings for the Underworld, nor for gods: only for the demon and his king.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Worthy of You

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back with this spicy number thanks to procrastination
> 
> tw: blood, knives, a not nice jeonghan. read at your own risk.

It was cold and it was cruel.

Just the way he liked it. Blood smeared across his face as he tore into creature after creature, bodies blurring, souls disintegrating, his blood lust insatiable. 

He was chosen for this for a reason. As the bodies lay scattered across the grounds, his chest heaving and muscles screaming with exertion, he knew he had proved himself worthy. 

Worthy of gold, of praise. Worthy of power and worship. 

Worthy of his king. 

Kingdoms rose and fell with the nod of a head, a wink of the eye. It came dusted with the ashes of the burned, the cries of the surviving, and the gold of the dead. Dust forgotten but the gold resting upon the head of any king who dared control the land. He knew this better than he knew anything else. No king would shock him, no king would harm him, no king would know him. He was older than the dust and more powerful than the gold. He was the inevitable. 

When his kind first crawled out of the earth, they were feared. Now they were worshiped. He thought maybe it was the same thing—for the longest time it had felt like the very same—but with this king, it was different. 

He wasn’t asked. Kings normally asked if they could use him. But this one did not. Perhaps because he was not a king yet and had ambition burning in his eyes with a fury reserved for gods. 

Fear and worship. Always the same. But never with this one. 

This one, with the whitest hair and the widest eyes did not ask, did not pray nor worshiped when he emerged from the ground. He demanded the land, commanded his power, all with a sickly-sweet smile. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted this demon to help him gain it all. 

Some in his home would call him weak for bending to the will of a king. If they knew, they would not say such things, for the demon and his king were equals. “You are mine,” He had said, gripping the kings throat so tightly that blood drew from the tips of his claws. The king looked at him with anger, lust, and _understanding_ as he pushed the demon’s hand closer against his skin and said the same words back. It had been like this since the beginning. 

The two of them. Weapons and leaders. Power hungry and ambitious. 

Seungcheol, the demon warrior who would spill all the blood the world could offer until the ground was wet with it, and Jeonghan, the king with long hair bright as his crown who would command him with a nod to pour the blood onto his throne instead. 

There would be no offerings for the Underworld, nor for gods: only for the demon and his king. 

“King,” Seungcheol said, addressing the other formally in front of others. The muscle in Jeonghan’s jaw twitched at his voice, as he always made it known he desired formalities but not with Seungcheol. But it was a formality that needed to be kept if the integrity of the tales of his merciless reign was to remain a factor of fear in the kingdom. 

Seungcheol had no formal title in royal courts, which suited him just fine, so when Jeonghan nodded slightly instead of saying anything, he took it as an address all the same. “The enemy army has been stopped,” He said, his eyes smiling even though he could not. “We have won.” 

“Mmhm, I can see that,” Jeonghan murmured. His eyes still had that spark of ambition; a hunger for more victory and power as he raked his gaze up and down the demons blood-soaked form. Seungcheol felt a delicious heat crawl up his spine and he couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest. 

“Is there anything else?” _Are you satisfied?_ A question unasked but always answered when the battles were over. 

Jeonghan hadn’t looked away, eyes glued to the him. He could feel the blood and dirt caked against his skin, cracking along the plains of his throat with every breath like paint. It pinched him, itchy, a pleasant reminder that he had succeeded. His muscles ached as he tensed his back, moving his arm to the hilt of the sword on his belt, subtly trying to remind the king that there was an audience present. 

“No,” He said quickly after. “You may rest.” 

Disinterest was painted on his face once more as Seungcheol bowed, uttering a “thank you, my king,” and turned to leave. If it were anyone else, he would think them rude, but he knew his king better than anyone. His king who never aged, skin unmarked and contrasted to the whiteness of his locks, who always stood elegantly and seemingly floated whenever he moved. His face was always serene, open and friendly, but his eyes were cruel and telling. King Jeonghan, once Jeonghan the prisoner, was never what he seemed. He could not be broken, though his stature suggested it. He despised opulence, though his body was adorned with it. He has killed, though his hands saw none of it. 

Seungcheol knew his king better than any god could. He knew that this was not the end of his answer. 

It was later in Seungcheol’s room that Jeonghan answered him with his mouth against the bruise on the inside of Seungcheol’s wrist. He was hungry, unsatisfied, and wanted more. 

Others had named it sin, but it was not. Knowledge could be found in lust. Desire could answer questions no other dare ask aloud. Actions surpassed words in the pursuit of divine power, and as Jeonghan sunk his teeth into the flesh on Seungcheol’s forearm and pain blossomed, he dared declare the marks sacred. 

Seungcheol hissed as the king pushed his sleeve up further, licking a trail through the dirt and ash still pressed into his skin, unbothered. “Insatiable,” Seungcheol whispered, carding a hand through Jeonghan’s hair, gripping at the scalp, and tugged him up harshly to face him. 

Jeonghan gasped, eyes fluttering open. It never got old to Seungcheol to see the king’s pupils blown as black as his own. Jeonghan’s lips curled into a smirk. “Always,” He said, his breath fanning out warmly across the demon’s face. “I always want more. That’s why you chose me.” 

It was always like this—both blood drunk and proud after a battle with nowhere to rid of their energy besides one another. They chose one another, at the beginning, and now. To side with one another was an act of violence against the world, but to love one another was an act of blasphemy. And they loved recklessly and violently as their mouths crashed together urgently, forming against each other until their mouths were slick and metallic. Pain was an honour—a blessing—and Seungcheol gave as much as he took with eagerness that could not be stopped by anything. 

“Please.” It was a command panted out against the swell of his cheek and Jeonghan greedily took in air. “Seungcheol, _please._ ” 

Jeonghan saying his name like this was enough to satiate the hunger. It was enough as he picked up his king and carried him to the desk, setting him down on the wood. He hissed through clenched teeth when Jeonghan bit down on the juncture of his throat, sure to leave another imprint among the myriad of marks showing the world that he _belonged_ to the king. He wanted each bruise to hurt for days after. Wanted to press into them and make himself remember. 

It wasn’t often they fucked. It was always stolen kisses behind locked doors and desperate rutting against each other, needing more time they didn’t have. And even when they had time, they kept it quick. Seungcheol never stayed after. Jeonghan never asked him to. 

But they were here. In his room. Fucking on his desk. And as the king gasped against the shell of his ear, his nails clawing into the skin of Seungcheol’s shoulder with each snap of his hips, he thought this time was different. He wanted it to be different. He rested his head against Jeonghan’s still clothed shoulder as he slowly stopped moving, his hands coming to rest against the dip of the others hip. 

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan whined, trying to push against him, and failing. “Why did you stop?”

“I’ve never seen you without your shirt,” He said, all at once. “I have known you for an age and I have never seen you fully.” 

When Seungcheol lifted his head to come face to face with the king, he saw that Jeonghan only raised a brow, his serene expression otherwise fixed fully in place. He didn’t waver as he stared, drinking in the sight before the king. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he said that. It was the truth—he never lied to Jeonghan—but it felt as close to an admission as they had ever had. It wasn’t a secret that Seungcheol loved his king and that his king loved him back. They had just never said it: vowed they wouldn’t. 

Jeonghan shifted slightly in his arms, eliciting a small groan from Seungcheol. “Do you really want do this now?” His tone was playful. 

Truthfully, no. He didn’t want to, but he had started it. Seungcheol didn’t answer him as he leaned down to softly press a kiss to the others mouth. Jeonghan melted into it easily with a sigh, his arms lazily draping around Seungcheol’s neck. He shuddered at the gentleness of it and the longer they kissed the more it spurred him on, slowly beginning to move his hips again but was stopped by a hand in the center of his chest. 

Jeonghan pushed him back and ripped off his shirt, tossing the silk carelessly to the floor. Seungcheol greedily drank in the sight of his king, the smooth expanse of skin finally revealed to him, and he was delighted to see the flush that was absent on his face was present on his chest. He wanted nothing more than to mark it up with his mouth. He got so caught up in staring that Jeonghan moved a hand to his jaw to bring his attention forward again. “You wanted to see me and now you have,” He said. “The least you could do is the same.” 

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate, shucking off the rest of his clothes, bringing Jeonghan’s pants down with his own, coming to stand between the king’s legs. Almost overwhelmed, he skimmed his hands up and down Jeonghan’s thighs, skin hot to the touch as he followed the trail up to the juncture of his hip and along the plains of his soft abdomen. 

Jeonghan had never been shy before with him, but as Seungcheol said nothing, running his still muddied hands across his body, he flushed. Seungcheol leaned into his neck and smirked against his pulse, scraping his teeth lightly as he crowded in closer. He let out a stuttered breath as Jeonghan dug his heels into Seungcheol’s back to pull them flush against one another. Jeonghan moaned low in his ear at the new contact. Seungcheol’s mind had turned to static as he braced himself against the wood of his desk. 

“Come on,” Jeonghan purred, voice like honey, heels like an anchor on his spine. “Come on, Cheollie. Finish what you started.” 

He never could refuse his king. 

Seungcheol lifted Jeonghan off the desk, hands planted firmly under his thighs and spun around leading them to his bed. He laid the king down gently on the covers, kneeling between his legs and taking in the sight of the other hard and desperate for him. It felt like a fantasy as Jeonghan pulled Seungcheol down against him by the chain of his necklace, all his breath knocked out of him as he crushed their mouths together, wasting no time licking into him. Jeonghan hummed at the contact deep in his throat, biting down on the demon’s plush bottom lip as he sunk back into Jeonghan slowly. 

He didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His ears were ringing, and his mind was buzzing with the need to come, Jeonghan a vice around him, the heat almost tipping him over the edge. He kept kissing Jeonghan, their mouths moving languidly against each other and Seungcheol was getting lost in the feeling of being consumed by his king. To distract himself he moved away to pepper butterfly-light kisses across Jeonghan’s face, eyes slipping closed as he did so. Gradually, he started to move and Jeonghan’s breath hitched against his lips, one of his hands clawing at Seungcheol’s back and the other grasping at the pillow. 

He figured he could live like this forever—inside Jeonghan, near him, under him. It didn’t matter so long as he was doting on him. He could feel the coil building, the warmth spreading across his abdomen like wildfire. It was too soon so he kept his thrusts slow and deep, hoping to draw more sounds out from his king, keeping him pleasured for as long as he could. 

Until he felt something cold at his throat.

His eyes fluttered open, fixing on Jeonghan who had the telltale look of trouble in his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Seungcheol swallowed thickly, his adams apple bobbing along the object pressed firmly against him. It was sharp and cold, and he had a feeling he knew what it was. Years ago, when he had first started sleeping in the castle, Jeonghan had handed him a blade—small enough to hide in a pocket, with a gilded handle, so quintessentially his king—and told him to keep it to protect himself from traitors. Seungcheol had laughed at the prospect of needing a knife out of fear, for he could burn a man alive without breaking a sweat, but he took it anyway. Every night, the blade rested under his pillow, unmoved, unused, as a way to keep Jeonghan close to him. 

This very blade, Seungcheol knew, was the one threatening him. His cock twitched at the knowledge and Jeonghan’s eyes darkened. With a determined look, the king pushed the knife harder against Seungcheol’s demon skin, just enough to draw blood. “If you don’t start fucking me like you mean it, I _will_ ruin you,” Jeonghan said, as though that were an explanation and not simply incentive. It drew a stuttered breath out of Seungcheol all the same as he gave his king what he wanted, fucking him in earnest. 

With every snap of his hips, the blade remained stable against his vein, and it turned him on more than he cared to admit. The bed rocked and the king let out wanton moans, ensuring anyone that walked by would know that he was claimed by Seungcheol. Jeonghan gasped out the prettiest noises and Seungcheol wanted to commit them to memory. Wanted to savour this moment until the world ended—the way Jeonghan clutched at him, helpless to the pleasure, but demanding it; the way he was dripping sweat mixed with dirt and blood that belonged to battle onto the pristine skin of his kings chest, now littered with bruises. He could feel himself getting closer and leaned down on his arm, caging Jeonghan in and forcing the blade deeper into his throat. Pain exploded from the cut and he hissed at it, feeling his blood spill black onto them, Jeonghan’s eyes widening at the action but not letting up. Seungcheol hated how it made him lose control, how he loved the feeling of relinquishing the rest of his power to Jeonghan, as if to say _“You have all of me—my heart, my soul, my blood—it’s yours.”_ And it made him grind into the other with reckless abandon. He used the spare hand to snake in between them to wrap around Jeonghan’s cock, stroking him in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Good,” Jeonghan panted, arching up into his touch. This, _this_ was what power was all about. “Good boy. Doing so well. Making your king feel good.” 

“All for you.” He wasn’t going to last. “Jeonghan. Baby, I’m—” 

Jeonghan pulled him down, crushing their chests together, the blade forgotten between them. “Come,” He commanded, as he did with everything else. And Seungcheol did. A primal sound ripped out of him, vision whiting out as he came inside his king. It was enough to push Jeonghan over the edge, convulsing against Seungcheol with a moan, spilling into his hand and latching onto the spot under his neck where the blade had pierced him. He shuddered, grabbing Jeonghan roughly by the chin and kissing him until the world balanced out and he could breathe again. 

Seungcheol kissed him until he was pushed away with a gentle hand against his sternum. This part he knew well. He pulled out of Jeonghan and meant to reach for a cloth from the bedside table but got distracted looking at the mess he made of his king. Something warm and possessive bubbled up in his chest and he was proud to know he had done this. Jeonghan fixed him with an unamused glare as if to say _what?_

“You look debauched,” Seungcheol said, reverence bleeding into his tone. “It’s a good look for you.” 

Jeonghan snorted, stretching slightly like a cat. Satiated. “I always look good.” 

“You’d look better if you stayed here with me tonight and got a good night’s rest.” It had slipped out before Seungcheol could stop it. Nothing loosened his tongue like an orgasm. And judging by the expression on Jeonghan’s face, he was just as shocked. 

“Seungcheol…” It was a warning touch to his tone that Seungcheol planned to ignore. 

He sighed, wetting the cloth and bringing it back to clean his king. As he wiped away the mess of blood and cum from his torso, he spoke honestly. “It is no secret we are together in many ways and I enjoy having you near me. So, why not stay?” 

Jeonghan, for all his traditions and candor, made sure to tread easy if he planned on breaking Seungcheol’s heart. He traced the lines of Seungcheol’s face, grabbing the cloth out of his hand and pressing it against his neck instead. It was a small action, but it was far more tender than he was used to experiencing. “My beautiful demon,” He mused. “I want to, but it is custom for us to sleep apart. You know this.” 

“Just one night.” He wasn’t begging. He was offering: a reprieve from the demand of royalty. To stay with Seungcheol and rest as Jeonghan, not as a king, or a villain—just as himself. 

“Would it be just one night? Do you not think we would be tempted to pursue more?” Jeonghan asked. 

Seungcheol didn’t have the answer to that. He knew he would crave it every day until the end of the universe, but he wasn’t sure if Jeonghan would. “My king, that is up to you,” He said. He leaned in, the warmth of Jeonghan’s bare skin like a magnet to him as he pressed himself against the king. “I will desire you until I can’t desire anything ever again. It has been like this since the beginning, and it will always be so. You know this.” 

Jeonghan hummed low in his throat, carefully thinking. Seungcheol could see him turning over possibility after possibility and dipped down to kiss his collarbone as an act of support. Finally, Jeonghan sighed, feigning exasperation as he said “All right. I’ll stay. But you are _not_ going to hold me.” 

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, his grin wolfish, matching the one on Jeonghan’s face. He swooped in and left one long lingering kiss on Jeonghan’s lips, enjoying how he could feel the shape of his rare smile. 

Settling in for sleep was a shockingly domestic affair with Jeonghan doing nothing to clean up and being disgusted when Seungcheol refused to do the same, tossing the cloth unceremoniously to the floor and pulling the blankets over them easily. With a twist of his hand, the candle fire was extinguished, and only the light of the moon filtering in through the windows illuminated Jeonghan. Seungcheol let himself openly stare at the king on his side who was looking back at him with understanding deep in his eyes, the kind that only comes from decades of devotion. 

Jeonghan stroked his cheek with the back of his knuckles, an action so gentle it caused his mind to short out. “I do love you, you know,” He murmured. 

Sincerity. Seungcheol felt the air trap in his lungs at the confession. “I do love you too. You must always have known,” He said. 

Jeonghan acknowledged that with a noise of ascent, and Seungcheol thought heaven could be damned because this was as close to euphoria as anyone had ever gotten. He nuzzled into the blankets deeper, pulling Jeonghan to him and encouraging the king to hold him, the other melding his chest to Seungcheol’s back as he laced their fingers together on his hip, Jeonghan’s cold nose nudging the nape of his neck. He felt one wet kiss before letting himself fall into sleep, his king holding him like he was the precious one. 

Seungcheol did not often dream. When he did, he dreamed about burning the whole world down, with Jeonghan at his side. He wasn’t even sure he cared about the world and he doesn’t necessarily even want that outcome—he wanted Jeonghan to have everything he desired, even if it burns him too. But that was the willingness the demon who wanted to be everything his king needed him to be. 

He wanted to be worthy of the end of times with the man he loves more than anything else. As he felt the small puff of breath against his neck, he finally believed himself to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a firm believer in bottom seungcheol pls trust me
> 
> asked my friend how to keep it from getting too sappy and she said "add a knife and some dick" and so i did and yet i still managed to make it sappy
> 
> as always, you can find me at [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/citruswonwoo) or [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/sunenthusiast)
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
